Chapter 22: Three Blind Mice

Pontiff dragged the bag along the ground, slowly, leaving behind a trail free of dust. The bag bulged like the stomach of a bloated person; the swords’ outlines were visible, threatening to rip the bag apart. Physical strength didn’t seem to be a strong suite, especially when the bag couldn’t total more than a 100 pounds. Pulling it with all his weight and body gained him a few inches of movement.

“Wait.” Priscilla called out. “Let’s just stop here for now.”

She ran towards Pontiff and waved towards the other two. The four of them gathered together in front of the stairway that led to the 8th floor.

“But we’re so close.” Gratt urged. “My sword should be a floor beneath us. At the very least I can confirm whether it’s there or not.”

“And lose everything we’ve gathered?” Priscilla pointed to the bag. “Look at it. What if the bag rips as we run away from monsters we can’t defeat?”

“Can’t you dump the lowest quality loot to make it easier to carry?” Gratt proposed. The thought of leaving the crypt and entering again was far from his mind. When he was so close to his goal, he didn’t want to start back from zero. There was also a possibility that the group may abandon his request after tasting the outside air.

“These are all our money, you idiot.” Priscilla shot back. “Oh, I know, let’s just dump a few of our hard-earned money in hopes that the bag doesn’t rip.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Gratt shrugged. “Lose a few potential gold coins here to guarantee a larger amount.”

“Or, we could walk out of here, cash out, and come back.” Priscilla argued. “We’ll get the full amount of money, and at the same time, come back in a better shape with more energy.”

“Leave now when our goal is so close?” Gratt argued back. “What if someone comes along and steal my sword in the time that we spend to walk back here?”

“What!” Priscilla slapped her forehead. “You just said it yourself! You don’t even know whether or not your sword is down there.”

“Right, pretty lady.” Gratt charmingly smiled. “Which is why we should take the little steps we need left to confirm it.”

Priscilla and Gratt adamantly held their position.

Priscilla thought back to the appearance of the marauder, and the talks of how it should’ve never been there in the first place. Any adventurers who easily breezed through the first four floors would definitely complain about the difficulty spike in the 5th floor with the appearance of the monster. She was afraid of the abnormally within the floors themselves. If the 8th floor had something similar in appearance to the marauder, then they would have to drop everything in hand to escape as fast as possible.

Gratt couldn’t bring himself to leave when he was so close. It was true that he didn’t know whether or not his sword is really on the 8th floor; he just heard unconfirmed information about it from his guildmate. And to a degree, he even agreed with Priscilla; but when he thought about the months that he had spent searching for his sword, he wanted to grab onto any lead possible. There was no assurance that if they leave right now, then Morr, Pontiff, and Priscilla would be willing to accompany him to the 8th floor. There wasn’t any money for them in return; it was just goodwill. Searching for another group strong enough to go down there would take even more time. The idea of resetting to zero didn’t sat fondly with him.

“We’re leaving!” Priscilla stomped her foot.

“We’re staying!” Gratt advocated.

“Ah, you two talk so much.” Pontiff interrupted. “Let’s just split up.”

“S-split up?” Gratt frantically spat out. The thought of them disbanding from their arguments dropped nervous sweat beads from his chin.

“Good idea.” Priscilla smiled. “I’m all out of mana, anyway.”

Morr glanced towards a sarcophagus near the stairway that led to the 6th floor. A sudden, small movement nearby attracted his attention from the corner of his eye. He recalled that they’ve opened all the sarcophagi in the room, at least the ones on the ground, and defeated all the skeletons that popped out.

“Me, Morr, and Gratt will continue to the 8th floor.” Pontiff proposed. “Priscilla will head back to sell the items we’ve collected. We won’t be needing the bag anymore if we’re actively trying to not encounter monsters.”

“Partying without a wizard?” Gratt shook his head. “Don’t be crazy. Elemental powers are--”

“Zip it.” Pontiff pinched Gratt’s lips. “You complain too much.”

“Wow.” Morr laughed and positioned himself so that he faced the stairway to the 6th floor.

“Can you carry the bag by yourself?” Pontiff asked Priscilla.

“Easy.” Priscilla launched the bag over her shoulder and stuck her hand out. “Give me your cards. I’ll split the total amount between the three of us.”

“The hell…” Gratt’s jaw dropped. “How the hell does a wizard path have so much strength?”

Morr and Pontiff took out their royal-blue cards and placed it in Priscilla’s hand.

“Blue membership?!” Gratt gasped. “It’s a good thing a thief didn’t see you with it.”

“Would a thief want it if there’s no money in it?” Morr asked.

“They wouldn’t steal it for the money.” Gratt said. “Different memberships offer different services; it’s not just for depositing and withdrawing money.”

“Then it’s decided.” Pontiff said.

“Actually, Pontiff, can you go with Priscilla?” Morr quickly asked. “It wouldn’t be right to let her walk alone.”

“What are you talking about?” Priscilla asked, puzzled by Morr’s sudden proposal. “I can--“

She stopped upon seeing a solemn gaze and a subtle shook of his head. Then, he turned his head to look at Pontiff and gave a subtle nod. He whispered “Trust” to the group, hoping that they can pick up on his serious tone.

“Ah, now that you remind me, it would be scary to walk all by myself.” Priscilla smiled. “Pontiff, would you please accompany me?”

After hearing Priscilla’s request he looked at both of them again. Pontiff whispered “Be careful” to Morr and Gratt, then turned to Priscilla and said, “Sure,” with a normal volume.

“What’s wrong?” Gratt whispered while maintaining a straight face.

“We’ve killed everything here, or at least we should have.” Morr whispered back. “But I saw something moved just a while ago.”

Pontiff and Priscilla turned around and began their departure.

“A monster?” Gratt whispered.

“I couldn’t tell.” Morr replied.

“We should walk with them then.” Gratt urged in a low voice. “What if they get attacked?”

“Those two aren’t easy to defeat.” Morr replied. “But more than anything else, they managed to sneak in here without us clearly seeing them. I barely noticed something, but I don’t know who or what they are.”

“You’re sending them to scout an unknown enemy?” Gratt solemnly looked at Morr. “How ruthless.”

Pontiff and Priscilla reached the stairway to the 6th floor. Everything seemed to be in order; there wasn’t anything suspicious from their point of view. The coffins were still empty, there weren’t anyone or anything around them, and they only heard their own footsteps. Priscilla turned around and waved goodbye. Pontiff waved as well and said, “We’ll be leaving by ourselves.” They ascended the stairway, and Morr continued to watch for another minute.

After seeing their safe departure, Gratt scanned the corner of the rooms and everything seemed ordinary.

“You’re probably tired from all that fighting.” Gratt sighed.

“Tired, huh? As an adventurer, how often do you see Aislings hunt other Aislings?” Morr asked. He refused to look anywhere else, and focus his gaze at the same spot that he saw previous movements. Brushing off the idea that he was tired, he convinced himself that something had to be there.

“In Mileth… never in four years have I seen someone kill someone else.” Gratt answered. “But outside of Mileth is different. It’s night and day compare to it. People tend to stay here because of the strict laws that grant them safety.”

“Safety in Mileth… but not Mileth Crypt.” Morr commented. “I have never seen a Guard or soldier actually in the floors below the entrance. I also recall a lot of adventurers that didn’t seem to belong here on the 5th floor. They were camping there, and all of their equipment looks to be a cut above the ones they sell in Mileth.”

“Good observation.” A voice rang out from a space behind a coffin near the 6th’s floor stairway. “[Camouflage: Off]”

Three outlines appeared behind a sarcophagus before taking form. Textures and depth gradually granted color and life to them. A two-handed axe warrior was the tallest of them all. Biceps, pecks, and legs were fully developed to match a magazine’s image of a true warrior. The scant armor on his body was used more to serve as aesthetics rather than protection. A backpack was strapped behind his armor, so that it wouldn’t fall out. Next to him was a range-oriented person that had the preferential of a crossbow. The crossbowman already had a bolt loaded on his crossbow, aimed towards Morr and Gratt. The leather armor that surrounded his body seemed more reliable than the warrior’s armor. Lastly, a rogue cladded in leather armor with emphasis on agility. There wasn’t any additional padding around his chest, back, or leg when he could just dodge them. A dagger was held in his right hand, and a surigam (ninja star) in his left. On all three of them was a tattoo, “K.O.S,” on their right arms.

“K.O.S…” Gratt noticed the bold print on their right arms and gulped. “It can’t be good if they’re here.”

“Should we be worry?” Morr asked.

“Should we be worry…?” Gratt painfully laughed. “Kill On Sight is notorious as a murderous guild. You tell me whether or not we should be worried.”

“Hello, hello, and hellooooo! Hellooooooo!” The rogue casually approached them. The warrior and crossbowman followed behind, both with their weapons ready. Step by step, the tension between the two party raised to another level as the distance between them reduced.

“Hello.” Morr greeted.

“H-hi…” Gratt mustered his courage.

“Me and my friends heard a lot of fighting noises, so we came here to help.” The rogue said. “But looky here. Where’s all the fighting?”

“If you go deeper I’m sure you’ll find monsters to fight.” Morr replied.

“Did you think he was being serious, brat?” The warrior scoffed. The silver axe was held in a manner to incite fear and submission into its prey. Complimented with his masculine body, any Lv. 7 adventurer would naturally be scared.

Morr examined the rogue and his friends to the best of his abilities and said, “Well--“

“Let me do the talking!” Gratt quickly cupped Morr’s mouth and forced a smile. “Kind Aislings, how can we help you?”

“We’re bored.” The rogue plainly said. “We’re oh-so bored. You wouldn’t believe how bored we were, waiting for a monster to appear on the 5th floor of this place. Isn’t that right, guys?”

“We heard stories about the abnormal scorpion and marauder on the 5th floor, so we waited there for days and nothing appeared.” The warrior wiped his imaginary tears dripping from his eyes. “So here we are. Still bored. You get it… right?”

Gratt did his best to maintain his forced smile, but it was beginning to chip away. At times like this he thought that appealing to their desire would be the best way to settle it. But when their desires lead to harming others, then it goes against the belief of his guild, the Royal Barong.

The rogue wrapped his arms around Gratt’s and Morr’s shoulder, and provocatively asked, “Do you understand?”

Gratt gulped and Morr was alerted more than ever. They were within touching distance, a dangerous zone to be in. A knife can be easily pulled and used to stab them, or their necks and limbs could be disabled. With the crossbowman at point-blank range it was hard for the two of them to do anything.

“Oh? The Royal Barong?” The rogue noticed the lion insignia attached to Gratt’s armor. “Looky here, friends. This guy is part of the Royal Barong guild, oh wait, I meant the Royal Shit guild!”

“Hah! The Royal Shit!” The warrior haughtily laughed.

“Pour me a strong drink before he starts nagging about justice.” The crossbowman mocked.

Gratt sucked in his pride and tried his best to ignore their voices. Hearing people degrade his guild with those vile words stabbed his heart, but it was something he had to endure. Their lives are critically in danger, and the adventurers threatening them didn’t seem like pushovers either. One wrong move and it could all be over.

Morr didn’t need to see Gratt actively release his frustration, he could clearly feel the amount of hatred by standing next to him. The anger passed the level of just a mere punching pillow; what Gratt wanted most was to rip their tongues out and force their words down their throat. Surprisingly, Gratt hadn’t made a single move yet, which Morr silently commended him for.

“Hand me the wanted list.” The rogue ordered the warrior.

“Sure thing.” The warrior reached into his bag and pulled out many crumbled parchment papers. He stretched the papers into a readable state and handed it to the rogue.

Flipping through the papers revealed three columns and many rows. The first column had the victim’s name on it, and the second column contained their life status. ‘Alive’ and ‘Dead’ were the only two words written in it. The third column only contained currency as its value. The values ranged from ‘1k’ to ‘100k.’

“Royal Shit… Royal Shit…” The rogue hummed a tune as he skimmed through the papers.

Morr fidgeted his right hand.

The crossbowman placed the bolt directly at Morr’s heart and asked, “Itchy, brat?”

“Be careful of him.” The warrior warned. “He’s a crafty fellow. Trying to bait us out with his own party members, really scummy of him. If we attacked the two from before, then they could’ve attacked us from our sides.

“Was that why he sent them?” The crossbowman laughed. “But I think you should call him stupid rather than crafty. Look at him now, he reduced his party size from four to two.”

“Scared, are we?” The rogue quickly flicked the arm that held a dagger. Swoosh! A light cut grazed both Morr and Gratt’s chest.

It was too fast for either of them to react, and their body became dangerously paralyzed. Their muscles wouldn’t listen to them no matter how many commands their brain gave out. Their eyes were still able to freely move, but talking was a struggle. Gratt found his sudden body state to be haunting. To be awake and conscious, yet not being able to control your body was an eerie experience he could never had fathomed.

“I’ve paralyzed them.” The rogue informed. “Potency was lowered for maximum entertainment. Preparation is key, my friends. Let this be a lesson learned: seal their movements, and their lives are already as good as yours.”

The rogue went back to flipping papers, and the warrior and crossbowman grew less cautious. The crossbowman turned and looked at the warrior with a reassuring relief. The warrior sighed and relaxed his stiff body. But when the crossbowman turned back towards the two victims, he saw something he thought should never be there… a smile.

First came a smile. It ran from corner to corner, grinning as wide as possible. It wasn’t the smile of someone who was truly happy, no, it would be more suffice to describe it as an indecent obsession. The eyes that accompanied that smile had an unhealthy amount of infatuation, but what was there to be this grossly absorbed about, the crossbowman didn’t know.

Second came an oppressive laughter. It started off low and quiet and built up to an incessant and deranged laughter. It pounded all of their ear drums, catching them off guard as they thought they had won. It continued to fill the room, and the room echoed back, laughing with him.

“Uh…” The crossbowman was at a loss for words.

This feeling again…

Morr knew this feeling of detachment too well. The first time was the time spent in the Church’s dungeon. He couldn’t control his body the way he wanted to, no matter how much he wanted to. The second time was during his rehabilitation. His body wouldn’t listen to him, which led him to using his chakra to force his muscles to move. The frustration of not being able to do something, because your body forcefully limits itself for safety, drove him mad.

“Guys!” The crossbowman cried, but the other two were as equally as panicked as he were.

The young man with a black cape began to deform. Bones slightly bulged through his skin as he willed his chakra. Parts of his body swelled up, as if he was suffering from an implosion. They were all shocked at what they were looking at. Gratt couldn’t even believe his eyes when he saw Morr’s body blew up and depressed like a balloon. No one moved and they all watched an oddity appeared before them, like a monster taking shape and throwing its mask out.

“You’ve got one thing wrong.” Morr declared. “I didn’t send them as bait. I sent them away because they’ve already seen the worse this world has to offer.”

“Argh!” The crossbowman closed his eyes and clicked the trigger on his crossbow. Click! Click! Click! He peeked through one eye and saw that nothing had change. Glancing down, the crossbow and bolt were completely crushed in the young man’s grip.

Morr bended his body to his will with the dominion over his chakra. He kicked Gratt’s armor so hard that Gratt flew a few feet away, crashing into a sarcophagus nearby. Following that, one more kick was sent towards the crossbowman’s kneecap, completely inverting its direction. The crossbowman instinctively released his hands from the crossbow and painfully dropped to the ground, hovering his hands over his broken knee. The heart-aching howl of agony sang for all of them to hear.

“How… You shouldn’t be able to move!” The rogue shouted in disbelief and distanced himself from Morr.

“BROTHER!” The warrior swung his axe horizontally so that he wouldn’t hit his brother on the ground.

The axe was large and heavy, so the swing had a lot of weight and power to it but the initial speed resulted in being slower. Morr had trained his agility from the skeleton warriors, and this was no different. Imagining himself as elusive as a leaf blowing in the wind, Morr bent his knees and swayed with the wind. The axe slightly brushed the top of his cape as he shrunk himself.

The warrior finished his horizontal arc with both of his hands, and stared at the boy with pleading eyes. Thud! The axe was dropped from the warrior as he receded into a fetal position. Limbs were drawn to his torso as he rolled next to his brother. Dodging his swing that he put all his might into was enough to declare a winner. Sobbing and waterfall of tears ensued from his dispirited defeat.

Morr stood tall. He didn’t have to do anything; the warrior collapsed by himself. Different thoughts ran though his mind, trying to maximize the situation as much as possible. Of all the different thoughts, there was one road that he wanted to travel.

The rogue from before struggled with shaking legs as he averted his eyes from his comrades. The sheer coldness creeping down his spine wasn’t from the temperature in the room, but born from futility. For him to restrain someone’s movement was one thing, and for him to watch his comrade be disabled in front of his eyes was another. But this was their lifestyle, and something like this was expected.

“[Throw Surigam]” The rogue bit his lips in hopes that the pain would override his fear. The surigam (ninja star) flew in the air and cut deep into his flesh, ripping a gap for his blood to flow out of. Upon seeing the trickled blood running down Morr’s upper arm, the rogue grew insanely happy, convincing himself that this monster was defeatable.

Morr stared at the gash in his upper arm and threw the surigam out. An obvious thought occurred to him that he didn’t realize before. His chakra could only be used a certain way, one at a time. Now that he was bending his body to his will, he couldn’t use it to reinforce his body. A painful lesson dawned onto him, and he was glad that it only resulted with just this.

“[Throw Surigam]” The rogue pocketed both his hands and pulled out eight surigams, each locked in place between his fingers. The surigams flew in the air, fanned out to cover a wide range both above and below.

Morr tried to be as elusive as a leaf again, but the surigams came at different intervals. Dodging them all didn’t seem probable, so he purposely caught a few of them in his leather bracers to dodge the rest. The surigam ran through the leather bracers and pricked his skin. It was a slight prick, similar to a cactus’ needle, and the damage resulted in a few droplets of blood.

The rogue circled around the young man, and threw four more surigams from his pocket. Watching him preoccupied by his distraction made the rogue even more confident. Just as Morr blocked the 4th surigam with his leather bracer, the rogue was already behind him.

“DIE!” The rogue held his dagger with both hands and launched it forward, harder and faster than he had ever done in his life. Desperation to kill this man was all he had in his mind. The smile of victory dominated his lips as he watched the young man fruitlessly extend his arms back. “This victory is… mine!”

The back of the young man seemed so large, and it was only a couple of seconds away from being painted with blood. A beautiful color, not to be confused with a nasty red. But then he felt a tug on his hand that inhibited the knife from moving forward. Glancing down, the rogue suddenly lost all life within him when he saw a grotesque arm. It twisted many times, as if the bones in that arm was fragmented. Morr’s arm contorted in such a way that when he snapped his arm to grab the dagger, the force would push his body away.

The rogue limped and groveled on the ground. That laugher of a madman continued the entire time, growing stronger as each of his comrade fell. The crossbowman fell and that laughter became unbearable. The warrior fell and that laughter became incredibly condescending. He fell… and that laughter broke his spirit.

Morr grabbed the rogue by his hair, then covered the rogue’s face with his right hand. “Aisling, hearken: What is my name?” The hourglass brand lit up and the rogue uttered sounds like those belonging to a newborn baby trying to speak but unable to. The light faded from his eyes and he crashed to the ground upon being released.

After confirming his suspicion, Morr strolled towards the warrior who refused to accept reality. He grabbed his face and gave his decree. “Aisling, hearken: decapitate this crossbowman, your brother, in 30 seconds.”

The air shook between them and the sockets of the warrior’s eyes and mouth shone with a bright light. The warrior stood up with his two-handed axe and began the countdown from 30 seconds. He faced the crossbowman with bleeding tears as the seconds ticked down from 25.

Morr grabbed the face of the crossbowman who was completely passed out from the pain. “Aisling, hearken: survive from death for the next 90 seconds.”

The crossbowman hopped into position on the leg that was still functional. The warrior continued the countdown, ticking down from 10 seconds. They both stared at each other, lifelessly, like two puppets waiting to act out a play.

3… 2… 1…

The warrior flexed his muscles and brought the axe high behind his shoulder. The crossbowman, upon feeling the warrior’s killing intent, began to hop away on one leg. The warrior gave chase with the axe in place. The crossbowman assisted himself with his other leg to gain speed, although it seemed to be fruitless when he was so imbalance. The warrior swung! The crossbowman fell to the ground on his inverted knee, fully bending it backward beyond repair, and barely dodging the axe. The warrior dominantly stood over the crossbowman’s body and chopped his axe downwards. The crossbowman struggled to break free, but when the axe touched his neck, he couldn’t struggle anymore. A head ejected from its body, and the warrior completed his deed. His body limped on top of his brother’s corpse.

“87… 88… 89… 90…” Morr counted the seconds passed. “Interesting… Very interesting.”

The paralysis began to fade and the pain from his arms slowly resurfaced. The chakra in his body positioned his bones back to their original place to the best of his ability. Examining his body, he didn’t think anything seemed out of the ordinary; there weren’t any bones bulging or popping out where there shouldn’t be. However, he knew he would have to ask Pontiff for assistance on this matter.

“How long are you going to stay in there?” Morr called out to Gratt. “The paralysis should’ve worn off; you should be able to move now. Or did I hit you so hard that you fell asleep?”

“C-c-coming!” Gratt joyfully shouted, trying his best to conceal his frightened, chattered teeth.